This Present Wasteland
by Wastehound
Summary: The protagonist seeks to be content with the choices he has made, but drowning his sorrows and accompanying the wrong crowds will throw him further and further into a pit of despair. Please comment your suggestions and thoughts.
1. Chapter I

I

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4 of 6 bullets remained in my .44. I was crouched over the raider who had pierced my left shoulder. The wound was throbbing, warm, and still oozing. I beat her face repeatedly with the handle of my weapon until I saw her eyes go blank. Her nose and face had caved in as the bridge of her nose had penetrated through the cerebral lump in her skull. Out of the cavity I had indulged in the center of her face, what seemed like gallons of blood and bits of brains splashed out. She was not alone. Her would be gang was holed up in the wrecked house up a slope. All that lay between them and me was a war wrecked vehicle which I hid behind. Though they did not have a clear shot at me, they kept trying with futility and eagerness. How many were there? Three? Four? All I had in my possession was a magnum I found a few miles back and a rusted combat knife.

Shot in the shoulder and dehydrated, I peeked my head out over the hood of the tarnished vehicle. Two dark figures, ready to attack anything that looked to be moving. What a lucky break. I jumped over the heap of metal and darted as quickly as I could toward the remains of the building. Quickly losing my breath, I started firing at the silhouettes atop the hill. They responded with automatic fire and aggressiveness. Clipped in the lower stomach, the shadow fell to a knee, dropping it's rifle. I hurried to it while it's companion did the same. I aligned the sights to his head and pulled the trigger. I watched the hammer swing back and strike with might the rear of the shell. Fire burst from out the gun and brain and blood from his head. His brother in arms acted quickly after seeing his demise. Alarmed I aimed my hand cannon toward him as he knocked it out of my hand and reach. Unarmed and surprised, I came to conclude he would reach for his. With that in mind, I reached for my rusted blade which was sheathed in the back of my belt and jammed it into his cranium. I felt cold shivers run down my spine as if I had stricken myself where I did him. Drenched, fatigued, and nearly bled to death, I sought refuge in the crumbling house donning macabre and limbs. Killing isn't really my favorite past time. Unless I'm attacked first or I need something they possess and refuse to bargain, I'm quite passive. I rested my shaking body against a pillar and tried to get some rest. The howling wind kept me up or around 3 hours, but I ended up passing out.

I continued my pilgrimage, enjoying a nice-warm sun bath with a cigarette clenched between my lips. Up ahead, a car orgy and what seemed like a settlement. I didn't bother searching the vehicles, they've probably already been picked clean. I made my way to the gate of the town. I pressed my palm against the wooden door to open it, but stopped with haste after noticing the bullet holes through which very little light peeked through. The inside was too bright, damp and it stank like rotten flesh. Something had obviously went down in here. I was stepping on something hard and heavy. I took a knee and felt around, picking up something cold and wet. After my eyes adjusted, a 5.56 mm assault rifle lay on the ground. I took it by the barrel and hung it from my torso with its strap. The stench reminded me of the place where I had to take shelter once. It was damp as well. I was with my last band of raiders. I was always too high to remember what we called ourselves. Around me lay seven and a half bodies. I cringed at the sight and felt sick immediately. Funny, thinking back on all the people I've had to shoot at point blank, I'm still quite the little bitch. I even remember having to eat a poor girl who was only around 16. God, the shit I've done. Makes me wonder why I don't take myself out. I'm no better than the rest of them. I actually feel a sense of pleasure in killing some. Not because I'm a sadistic fuck, no. I'm ending their suffering. I like to think I send them to a better place. Anything would be better than this place.


	2. Chapter II

II

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I don't remember my age, I know I'm a few years older than 18, somewhere in my 20s. I lived with my family til I was 17. My father had been missing for 3 months, presumed dead. I couldn't care less. Alcohol ran through his veins, leaving him senseless and unaware of the damaged he caused to my mother or me when I interfered. Though I respected the man for feeding his family, I never looked up to him. I don't want to bring a helpless, pure being into such a world where every minute is a struggle for survival. I guess I can understand why he drank, to forget about his past, all the stupid shit he's done, how I do today, but I will never understand how he can put his hands on his own flesh and blood. My mother and I never knew if he just walked off or got lost on a run for supplies. He never really spoke to me unless he was barking commands. I left when mother picked up his habits. My father had taken the rifle and the ammo, so I only had a rusty kitchen cleaver to hunt with, and my mother couldn't eat any more irradiated shit. I guess she had given up. I remember her telling me to go, that I shouldn't stick around to see her rot after she died. I'm still unsure if she committed suicide or died of starvation. I didn't want to see her dead, so I never went back.

After a couple days of nothing, I came across a caravan. They supplied me with feeble 9mm handgun and a few clips. I also got a leather jacket plated with metal and some unspecified type of meat. Anything tastes good with hunger though. I had given them all the caps I had and a pack of cigarettes. They said that there was a large settlement about 13 miles down a the road we were on. The place was called Diaga, it was supposed to be the safest city around due to the number of guards and their armament. The walk took about 4 to 5 hours. I arrived at dusk, with a great thirst and sleep deprivation. I hadn't slept since I left home. I was searched at the gate, and let through after they questioned my reason to be in town. I was directed to the mayors office after asking where I could crash for the night. He set me up with a deal. I kept watch in town. "You can never be too guarded" he laughed. He was a typical male, short, curly hair, aged with years of suffering, from the look of his dull eyes. He had an odd sense of humor though. Like if everything was a joke. I'm surprise he hadn't run the town to the ground. Nice guy overall though. He set me up with a small, cold room at the saloon.

I spent around 6 hazy months there, with a girl I met while having a drink of whiskey. I didn't quite like the taste, but it kept me warm in my freezing housing. The girl and I didn't exchanged names, we just referred to each other with pet names. She called me "darling". She picked it up from some of the music she listened to. Dreadful noise she loved and I put up with. Another thing I put up with were her habits. I didn't mind what she put into her body as long as it wasn't a bullet or another mans appendages. But she eventually took me with her. Literally. We had been so out of it for so long, I stopped making shifts. I'm talking weeks. Some lousy restaurant got raided by the own townspeople. After an argument about trust and responsibility, the mayor decided he wanted us out of town. I'm sure he used too, but he had a reputation to keep up.

The both of us kept together. We eventually exchanged names. Sabrina. I managed to get a car working for a while, but fuel was a bitch to come across. We ended up joining a group of people when picking up. Everyone looked out for each other, but there was no respect. I noticed she went deeper and deeper into numbness caused by the numerous drugs she was on. She took whatever she was offered, and eventually, she was so strung out, she couldn't even think straight. It was after a raid. We had taken out a small town, painting the walls with red and human remains. I was too high to be disturbed by all the death around us. That's how I managed most of my raids. We decided to hole up in the devastated town, since we found a few grams of jet and psycho. She shot up first. Next was Jericho, the most insane mother fucker I had ever met. The guy was practically horny for blood. I took the next needle, deep into my vein. I was soaring, overwhelmed with aggression and thoughts of my father. I felt hot, and the shed got stuffy. I didn't pay attention to Karen, who overdosed on the last of the psycho. I was observing Jericho. He kept watch on Sabrina, watching her, closely. He had bad intention in his eyes. I was out of it. Karen began to convulse, falling to the dirty ground. I began for my sledge hammer and struck him in the ribs. I took a punch myself, from Sabrina, then a few kicks from Jericho. Turns out, they've been doing shit behind my back for a while.

I was left with Karen's pale, sweat-drenched corpse and my clothing. They took my hammer, 9mm and my fucking cigarettes. I felt like I shit. Drained from both emotional and physical strength. I stayed in that decaying town for a few months. Eating what my "friends" didn't take, and drinking the dead residents alcohol. I didn't care too much for what I took, as long as it numbed everything. I had recovered weeks before I left. I hadn't quite sobered up when I departed, but I really wasn't going any where, so it was okay. I drank and indulged myself in the sun.


	3. Chapter III

I traveled the wastes without a destination, until I stumbled upon a mini-mart. I was skeptical about going inside, I hadn't a weapon but a rusty tire iron I found in a Chryslus I found back down the road.  
I entered the crumbling building with caution, keeping a low profile. The air was thick, but the oxygen was thin. The interior was clammy and dark, with garbage and rubble decorating it. There were perforations on the ceiling, letting in little light.  
"Who the fuck is there?" Echoed throughout the mart. I stayed in silence. "You here to buy!?"

"Who the fuck was watching the entrance!?" Cried a second voice.

"I told Skippy to tell us when he left the door" the first responded.

"Maybe this fucker got him"

"No, I didn't get anyone! I'm just here to buy!" I figured they were talking about supplies. After a long silence, four high powered lights came on, one from each corner. The brightness hurt my eyes, synthetic light was never my friend.

"How'd you hear about us, punk?" Asked a tall man, bearing leather tights, lined with spikes. He was fit, no doubt, but he needed a shower. Grime covered his upper body and dirtied his flashy trousers. He wore his hair up in a Mohawk, colored green. He had bits of metal sticking out of his eyebrows, accentuating the ones on his lips.

"No one. I thought this place was empty and maybe I could find something useful" I answered, trying to keep calm. His friend came along, walking atop the stands that were used to display various items that used to be sold. He cocked his shot gun and aimed the barrel at my head.

"So you though you were gunna loot us, huh, fucker?"

"No, like I said, I thought this place was empty."

"Throw him in the den, with the others!" Demanded the stinky one.

The other lunged at me, he had taken out some knuckles out of his pocket and slipped them on. He started swinging at me, landed a punch on my stomach, knocking my air out. Almost losing my vision, I swung the tire iron aimlessly as the other laughed, mockingly. Again, hit against the rib. I felt a slight heat, coming over my face, and began to sweat. I steadied myself with a deep breath. I took the iron to his shin. With a crack, he fell to the floor next to where I was at a knee. I began smashing his face, with the back of socket, until it caved in on itself.

"Fuck, son." He paused for a second "We need more guys like you. How'd you like to take the place of the asshole you just killed!? Hahahaa!" Said the green haired sadist.

"Well, what the hell is it you do?", I asked with some authority as I stood up.

"We round up sons of bitches, then sell em for some caps to people"

"What happens to them?" I wondered out loud.

"Shit boy, you want me to shoot you, or you want to get paid?"

I worked with Joe for around 6-7 months, rounding up slaves. I usually tried to get people who deserved it, as opposed to anyone. It was funny though, scumbags rounding up scumbags. It paid well, I made enough to get me a condo.


	4. Anouncement

**This is just an announcement. If you would like me to keep publishing, please say so? I have the next chapter done i'm just debating whether or not to continue updating.**


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